


Yell, Scream, Cry, Please

by Emily_F6



Series: Peter Parker Prompts [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Homeless Peter Parker, Hurt Peter Parker, Irondad, Peter Parker Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25757509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emily_F6/pseuds/Emily_F6
Summary: This wasn’t a place that Peter had ever expected to find himself.orPeter finds himself on the streets.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Peter Parker Prompts [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1866505
Comments: 11
Kudos: 468





	Yell, Scream, Cry, Please

**Prompt: "Yell, scream, cry, please just…say something"**

This wasn’t a place that Peter had ever expected to find himself. He knew the Vulture was still out there… knew that people were in danger and he could have fixed it… could have saved them.

But not anymore. His suit was with Ned. When Mr. Stark finally remembered that he existed, maybe he’d track it down and take it back. Not that it mattered. Not now…not when everything was gone and he was so alone…how could he have become an orphan four times? How the hell could life be so cruel that he would lose everyone? Peter buried his face in his knees, shivering uselessly against the cold.

It had been a month and Mr. Stark hadn’t even bothered to call. Happy either. 

He hadn’t grabbed a coat before leaving…before he’d jumped out the window and run. The parents had been fine. The little boy had been nice, but kind of quiet…kind of afraid always. But the older boy…eighteen years old and home from college for the weekend to meet the new foster kid…Peter hadn’t known that walking through the living room while Jim was home was a crime. Hadn’t known that the older boy would grab a beer bottle and throw it at his head and hadn’t known that defending himself would get his nose broken.

So he’d left. Three days ago…three days ago he’d run to his room and leapt out the window, stopping only to grab his sweater and his backpack which held fifteen dollars, his cell phone (which he’d thrown into the river), his old webshooters and web fluid, and an extra pair of socks that he hadn’t unpacked yet. He was glad for the extra socks as he curled up under the bridge, the horn of the ferry and the sound of the river mingling with the sounds of traffic. He was too cold, though, so he’d need to find a place to curl up where he could be hidden from the wind.

He took to the roof of a building close by, scaling the side of it and curling up by the ledge. It kept most of the wind off, and he used his backpack as a pillow. It had been a month…a month since the funeral and a month of waiting for Mr. Stark to call until he’d finally dropped his phone into the water, knowing that if Mr. Stark had wanted to call him, he would have. Happy was probably just relieved that Peter had stopped bugging him, he thought bitterly. He’d never wanted to deal with Peter…had never wanted to take his calls or answer his texts. Happy hated him. And, Peter thought with a shiver, Mr. Stark probably regretted ever getting Peter involved in any of this. He had just needed some help in Germany…and then he’d given Peter the suit out of what? Pity?

Burying his face in his backpack and fighting the tears, Peter curled up as much as he could, desperate to stay warm. It wasn’t working…but, as he quickly figured out, it didn’t matter. Because he was so cold that it almost didn’t hurt anymore. He closed his eyes, figuring he’d find a warmer place to sleep the next night. He couldn’t go to a shelter…he knew his face was on the news. “Queens teenager missing after running away from their foster home.” Would Mr. Stark have seen? Would he even care? The man had seemed nice…well…almost nice. But now…what did it matter? Peter was starting to feel almost warm. Comfortable. It was almost Thanksgiving and there were snowflakes drifting through the air and Peter wasn’t afraid.

Hands shook him. Or maybe the hands were shaking. “Come on…come on, Pete. Come on…wake up. Wake up, Peter.” It took Peter a moment to realize his eyes were open and that someone was touching his face with hands so hot they stung. “Come on, buddy. Yell, scream, cry, please just…say something. Alright? Just…here…take my jacket…it’s so cold out here…” The voice sounded afraid. So absolutely afraid as they rambled and placed something over him, brushing something from his arms first. Snow…it had been snowing. “Please…please, kid. You can’t…you can’t do this…please…” 

Peter couldn’t muster the energy to speak, but as hot hands pressed to his face then rubbed up and down his arms, he realized he had started shaking. “There you go! Good…good job, Pete. Come here…” He was pulled by his upper arm and held against someone warm, hands rubbing vigorously up and down his arms. Slowly, feeling came back to his fingers and arms, but only a little. It burned…he was cold, he realized. So, so cold. 

“Friday? Yeah…yeah, okay.” The person pulled away, hands holding his shoulders to steady him before they stepped back…and then he was pulled into warm metal arms. “Heat up the exterior of the suit as warm as you can without hurting him.” The person ordered, carrying him a few steps before weightlessness settled over them, and they were dropping so slowly, the loud humming of repulsers making something in his memory click. Iron Man?

“Holy shit! Is that the kid!”

“Just open the back door! Now!” They barked, and Peter felt himself being placed in a car…his eyes had shut at some point, he realized, but he didn’t have the energy to open them again. It didn’t matter. He just wanted to sleep. But it wasn’t a minute later that someone was sitting right beside him, stripping his jacket off…and the sweater. In just his t-shirt, Peter was held against a warm body, and then pulled onto their lap as they rocked him. “You’re okay. I’ve got to warm you up…you’re freezing, Pete.” 

Iron Man knew his name?

Peter’s head felt fuzzy and he rested his face against the person’s neck, feeling his cold nose get warm when pressed to their hot skin. A hand rubbed his back through his t-shirt, and he could feel the soft words in the man’s chest. Mr. Stark’s chest?

“You’re okay. I’m going to get you back to the tower. We’re going to get you warmed up. It’s gonna be alright, Pete. I’m sorry…I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…I swear, I didn’t know.”

“You…you’re Iron Man…save…saved me…again…” Peter tried to tell him, remembering being so small and holding up a glove covered hand…remembering the clank of Iron Man landing behind him and the drone that had exploded. 

“Yeah…yeah, I saved you.” The man sounded like he was crying. Mr. Stark…Mr. Stark was crying, nose pressed to the top of his head. “I’m so sorry. Pete…I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t…shit…I’m so sorry, Peter.”

Peter couldn’t remember what he would be sorry for, but as they pulled into a parking garage, he figured it didn’t matter all that much. All he cared about was getting warm, and he figured that if anyone could save him, it was Iron Man.


End file.
